


Chiaroscuro

by interlude



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel's True Form, M/M, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interlude/pseuds/interlude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beings can only exist in their true form in Purgatory. That means when Dean and Castiel arrive, the angel is violently ripped from his vessel and disappears. Dean and a very confused, exhausted, and fed-up Jimmy Novak have to survive monsters and beasts of all kinds while trying to find a much less human-looking Castiel and a way home. Stories are exchanged, monsters are vanquished, vampires are befriended, true forms are revealed, and Jimmy decides that if he is ever lucky enough to meet God in person he is going to punch him in the face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hollow

**Author's Note:**

> I think it's pretty widely accepted fanon at this point that Jimmy died somewhere between getting blown up by Raphael and Castiel taking on all the souls of Purgatory and honestly, I really hope that's the case as poor Jimmy's been through much already. Even so, it's interesting to imagine Jimmy making his way through Purgatory with Dean, cursing Castiel and God the whole way through for the horrible direction his life has turned towards.
> 
> I had really hoped we would see more of Purgatory and its inner workings than we did. I also can't except the fact that Cas would be running around in his human vessel in any sort of after-life; I think it's much more reasonable to think he'd be there in his true form (as would the leviathans, who never lived up to expectations ever)
> 
> Anyways, this story is really just a way for me to try to give Purgatory and its residents the true potential it deserved (and explore Jimmy and his relationship with Cas more)
> 
>  
> 
> I really don't have all that much of an idea where I'm going with this, and I'm bound to be busy with schoolwork and other things, but I'll try to get chapters out as regularly as possible

_we are the hollow men_  
we are the stuffed men  
leaning together

_\- T.S. Elliot; The Hollow Men_

_\--_

 

Jimmy Novak comes back into being with a sharp gasp of air and a sudden snap into awareness. The world leaps into focus before his very eyes, seems to leap at him as well – too real, too close, far too overwhelming without the angelic buffer he’s grown accustomed to. That thought strikes him, catches his attention; he searches inside himself for the light that has held and sheltered him for the past few years but can not find it – it no longer exists inside of him. Castiel is gone.

 

A deep grunt drags his attention away from the emptiness, and he turns to see Dean Winchester dragging himself to his feet before looking back at Jimmy. They stare at each other for a moment, both confused, lost, startled, before a loud growl cuts through the silence and drags their attention away from each other.

 

“Cas, where are we?” Dean asks, his voice a low growl, as they look around at the trees, the darkness, and the shadows Jimmy hadn’t noticed before steadily creeping closer. It feels like a world straight out of a nightmare – or a horror film.

 

“I don’t know,” Jimmy answers, his voice pitching high, hysteria creeping up on him in time with the shadows. “I’m not Castiel,” he adds, because that seems important to point out. Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Dean’s head whip around to stare at him in shock.

 

“Jimmy?!” Jimmy nods, eyes still locked with the shadows – if he squints they sort of look like gorillas or some other large, bulky animal, yet they move like mountain lions or some other large feline – low to the ground and graceful despite it’s large body. He has no idea what it really is, hasn’t even seen anything like it before, but he has no doubt that it could kill him in a matter of minutes if it wanted to. He’s going to also guess that it very much wants to.

 

“Shit. Fuck.” Dean pats his pockets, searching, before he pulls out a knife with a look of triumph.

 

Jimmy backs up slowly, until he stands behind Dean who holds his knife out at the encroaching shape threateningly. A shuffling – the sound of snapping twigs and rustling leaves – comes from their right; Jimmy whips his head around, eyes catching on another gorilla-like shape. And another behind it. They’re outnumbered.

 

There’s too many – possibly more hidden behind the trees and in the dim light, using the shadows and the humans’ worse eyesight to their advantage; Dean can’t possibly take all of them on and Jimmy himself is completely defenseless. He wishes Castiel was here. “Dean,” he whispers, voice rising with his terror. “Dean, there’s too many. I think they’re traveling in a pack.”

 

“I know,” the hunter growls, eyes darting around to observe all threats while he keeps his knife trained forward – aimed at the closest shape. “We’re going to run.”

 

“W-what?”

 

The hand not clutching the knife grabs his wrist tightly. “Run!” Dean hisses, and then they’re running, Dean tugging him along. The forest is dense around them and dark – it’s difficult to see and they stumble over unseen roots and other hidden obstacles, dodging trees before they hit them. Behind them there are loud growls, shrieks, and the pounding footsteps of fast moving creatures as the beasts chase after them.

 

Jimmy used to run to stay in shape, before everything. He liked to jog in the mornings and late afternoon. In his college days he used to participate in marathons. Five years ago he could have easily kept up with the hunter, might have even been able to outrun him. But Jimmy hasn’t had control of his body in four years and it feels distant still – like it doesn’t really belong to him – like he’s a stranger in his own skin. It’s hard to tell his body to move the way he wants it to; it seems unwilling to respond to him.

 

Not to mention his shoes – white loafers that he doesn’t recognize, though the business shoes he put on all those months ago wouldn’t have been much of an improvement. These shoes aren’t meant for running for one’s life. He slips and slides along the ground – on fallen leaves and mud and moss – and stumbles every few steps. He’s sure he would have fallen already if Dean weren’t gripping his wrist, dragging him up and forwards every time he falters.

 

There are more growls behind them. Jimmy doesn’t dare turn to look but he knows the beasts must be gaining on them. They would have caught them by now if the humans weren’t zigzagging through the forest, using the many trees to their advantage. Jimmy’s glad Dean’s the one leading them, choosing where to go; he thinks he might have just run straight in his terror – that’s how you run for marathons, after all. How you run for exercise and pleasure. Dean, he guesses, has only ever run for his life. The hunter is gasping out curses beside him – a steady chorus of _fuck, fuck, fuck_ in time with his feet.

 

They burst through a line of trees; a stone cliff side looms before them, the top disappearing into a barrier of thick fog. A few feet up the wall of rocks, Jimmy thinks he sees a narrow cave, a gap in the rocks. Dean apparently sees it too. “Can you climb?” he barks, letting go of Jimmy’s hand and slipping the knife into his jacket pocket so he can get both hands on the cliff.

 

“I – I,” Jimmy gasps, spinning wildly to look behind him; he sees nothing but the trees but he can hear the beasts crashing through the forest towards them. They’ll be there soon.

 

Dean is already climbing. “Guess we’ll find out,” he grunts, scrambling up the wall.

 

Jimmy takes a deep breath before grabbing onto the rocks; he thinks back to the times he rock-climbed in college, all two of them, trying to remember tips – of course then he had colored handholds to point out what path to take and had been securely attached to a rope in the event that he fell. And there hadn’t been anything chasing him. “Fuck,” he whispers breathlessly, before pulling himself up, getting his feet onto the rocks below him and scrabbling up as fast as possible.

 

If his shoes were bad for running, they’re even worse for climbing. But somehow he keeps moving upward, drawing closer to the gap where Dean is pulling himself into, wiggling to squeeze himself into the small crack. In a matter of seconds only his booted feet stick out, then those disappear too. Jimmy hears the beasts come crashing out of the trees just as he gets his hands up onto the ledge. Dean’s hands shoot out of the opening, grabbing his wrist and tugging him up. With Jimmy kicking and Dean tugging, they manage to pull him up into the narrow opening, Jimmy’s slimmer build fitting through much easier than Dean had.

 

Jimmy’s feet disappear into the cave just as he hears claws scrape at the rocks below. The cave is narrower than he thought – just big enough for the two men to squeeze themselves into on their bellies, lying close together so their sides are pressed up against each other. But the small size is working to their advantage now that they’re inside; even if the beasts could climb there’s no way they could fit their massive bodies inside. Dean keeps the knife trained on the entrance, ready for any clawed feet the beasts might try to shove in. 

 

No feet reach into the cave, though; they can hear the claws scraping along the rock and the angered yowling of the beasts, but it appears that nothing can reach them, that perhaps the beasts can’t climb. They’re safe.

 

Jimmy starts laughing hysterically at the thought, only half aware that he’s shaking. Dean glances over at him. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah, I, yeah – fuck. **Fuck**.” He lays his head down, forehead resting on the rock floor below him. He breathes deep, trying to catch his breath. He can hear Dean breathing loudly beside him.

 

“Fuck, I haven’t run like that in a while,” the hunter says.

 

Jimmy snorts, even if it isn’t really funny. “I can’t believe we’re alive.” He raises his head, looking over at Dean. The hunter is nodding, still watching the entrance of their shelter carefully. “Where are we?”

 

Dean purses his lips, thinking. “I think we’re in Purgatory.”

 

“Purgatory?” Jimmy repeats, staring at him. He thinks he might start laughing hysterically again, if only because there’s no better response. “Purgatory’s real?”

 

Dean nods. “Yeah, believe me, I didn’t believe it either.” Dean looks away from the entrance finally, apparently satisfied with their safety. He stares at Jimmy, who stares back at him uncomfortably, aware of what’s coming. “Where’s Cas?”

 

And there it is. Jimmy lowers his eyes to the rock below him as he searches through his memories. There’s not much there – vague, unfinished sketches of events, brief glimpses of what was happening in the outside world while he stayed trapped in the back of his own mind, strong impressions of fear, despair, confusion, and loneliness from Castiel. The angel had once mentioned that angels didn’t feel, they didn’t experience emotions – Jimmy knew that was wrong.

 

He had gotten the impression, while still only vaguely aware of anything at all, that Castiel was just as clueless as the rest of them, if not more. He certainly wasn’t what Jimmy had once imagined of angels; then again, nothing involving heavenly hosts, demons, or God himself had turned out to be anything like he had once learned about in Sunday school. He had half a mind to go back to his preacher and tell him just how wrong he was, but he didn’t want to take faith away from others; he missed having that kind of faith.

 

It takes him a moment to realize he has been silent for a while, staring at the ground and feeling Dean’s eyes staring hard at him. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I haven’t really been completely aware of things lately. Castiel sort of kept me in the dark, mostly. All of a sudden I was just in control again. Castiel wasn’t in here at all.”

 

“Great. Dammit.” Jimmy dares a glance back at Dean. The hunter has turned to glare angrily out of the entrance; he is chewing on his lower lip, brows furrowed. The hand holding the knife is twitching. The answer has clearly agitated him. Jimmy almost apologizes for upsetting him, before catching the apology on his tongue; he swallows it back down. Jimmy doesn’t have anything to apologize for; Castiel disappearing is not his fault. Castiel keeping him in the dark and unaware of everything is certainly not his fault.

 

“So,” he says instead. “Do we have a Purgatory escape plan?”

 

Dean snorts. “I wish. I don’t know anything about this place. What about you? Any useful religious information wiggling around in that noggin?”

 

Now that’s funny. Jimmy laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “I don’t think it would help. I’m learning that everything I once considered religious fact is almost completely wrong. The only thing I knew about Purgatory was that it’s supposed to be the place where souls are purged before being admitted to Heaven. Just a hunch, but I don’t think those gorilla things down there are being purged for acceptance to Heaven.”

 

“Someone told me that Purgatory is the place where monsters go after they die. Sort of a monster Heaven. Or monster hell, I guess.”

 

“Castiel?”

 

“No. Some dick named Crowley.”

 

“Crowley?” Jimmy tastes the name on his tongue, the way the shape of it feels in his mouth. It sounds familiar, like something from a past memory – or one of Castiel’s memories, maybe. He thinks he might remember some scenes between the two, meetings between the angel and someone else - Crowley. “Did Castiel spend a lot of time with him?”

 

There is no answer. When he turns to look at Dean, he sees the hunter is angrily glaring out at the sky; his knuckles are white around the handle of the knife. Apparently that had been a bad thing to ask. “Okay, then, never mind,” Jimmy mutters. He doesn’t really want to piss of the one person between him and certain death – there was no way Jimmy would survive Purgatory without Dean’s help, after all.

 

Vessel or not, Jimmy doesn’t know the first thing about survival skills. Ad salesmen aren’t made for killing monsters.

 

“Get some sleep,” Dean grunts, dragging the conversation – if you could call it that – away from Castiel and this Crowley person. “It’s getting darker. We’ll start moving in the morning.”

 

When he sleeps, Jimmy dreams of angels and lights, comets and monsters. It is the first time he has dreamed in five years.

 

\--

 

“Hey, Jimmy, wake up.” Something is nudging him roughly in the side, right between his ribs. He grunts, pushes away at the hand angrily. “Hey, c’mon.”

 

Groggy and only half awake, Jimmy forces his eyes open; he blinks awake slowly while the world gradually takes shape before his eyes. “Urgh.” He lifts a hand to wipe at his eyes, brushing the sleep away.

 

He hears Dean – right, that’s who hit him – chuckle beside him. “Yeah, good morning sunshine.” Jimmy throws a glare his way before he turns his head to look out the entrance of their hideaway. It is dim outside still, and from the way he feels it couldn’t have been more than a few hours since he fell asleep.

 

“Why did you wake me up?”

 

“I think this is about as light as it’s going to get,” Dean answers. “If we want to move we should do it now.” Fear shoots through Jimmy’s body; he remembers the giant creatures from the night before, can still see them circling if he closes his eyes.

 

“What about those things – what if they come back?”

 

Dean grimaces; Jimmy can see the same memories dancing behind his eyes – monster hunter or not, neither one of them want a rematch with those things. “Well, we can’t stay here,” he argues. “Eventually we’re going to need food and water. And I think we should find Cas.”

 

Jimmy startles at the name; he looks away from the entrance to turn and stare at Dean instead; the hunter is shuffling and army-crawling his way towards the opening slowly. “You think Cas is here somewhere?”

 

Dean stopped, looked back at him. “You don’t?”

 

The question of where Castiel had gone was a mystery. The first time Castiel was ripped out of him – and sent back to bible camp upstairs by aggressive, rough-handed angels – he had at least had a bit of a warning. He hadn’t accurately guessed, of course, that Castiel was about to leave him, but there had been the sense of worry and fear on the edges of his consciousness that he knew wasn’t his own. Castiel had been preparing himself for something and then something had come.

 

There was even a split second of struggle – perhaps longer to an angel, but for Jimmy it had been over in nearly a heartbeat – before he felt Castiel pulled from him.

 

This time, there had been hardly anything. No warning. No angels coming for him. Jimmy had been unaware of the world, and then suddenly the world was there before him, dark and unfamiliar and he was alone in it. Or mostly alone. Dean had been there. Dean, who was still waiting for an answer.

 

“I don’t know,” Jimmy says. He seems to be saying that a lot lately. “Maybe angels can’t even enter Purgatory – if that’s really where we are, I mean. If it’s really a place for monsters, like you said. Maybe that’s why he got kicked out of me.”

 

In response, Dean merely grunts, turning back to the opening of their hideaway. Jimmy doesn’t really know much about Dean; he spent less than two days in his presence before and he was so focused on getting home to his family that he didn’t notice the hunter as anything other than a roadblock. So far, though, he’s getting a rather caveman like impression.

 

“Either way,” Dean says as he reaches the edge, “we’re not gonna find a way out of where ever we are if we just stay here.” He sticks his head out of the opening, looks down at the ground below. “All clear,” he calls, then turns around to grin at Jimmy. “Ready to go exploring?”

 

“Not really,” Jimmy answers dryly.

 

It took a lot of uncomfortable shuffling and careful maneuvering, but Dean got himself turned around so that he could stick his feet out the entrance and lower himself onto the rocks. Slowly and carefully, he made his way down the cliff.

 

Jimmy takes a deep breath to prepare himself before following him. It’s a challenge. He keeps slipping, his shoes sliding right off the footholds. Once or twice, he nearly falls off the rocks; it wasn’t that high of a fall, but he didn’t doubt that he could break an ankle – or worse – if he did fall. A broken bone would just make running and staying alive even harder.

 

Eventually, though, he feels solid ground under his feet and he lets out a breath of relief, letting go of the rocks and turning away from the wall. Dean is eyeing him carefully - has obviously been watching him carefully as he made his way down. Jimmy looks down at his shoes instead, then his clothes when he realizes the only thing he recognizes is his trench coat.

 

“These aren’t my clothes,” he notes as he grabs a handful of the white shirt to look at it closer. It’s covered in dirt now, from lying on his stomach in the cave.

 

“No, Cas changed out of your suit.” Jimmy frowns at Dean’s answer – one, because he didn’t think Castiel cared much about material things like clothing ( **he** clearly hadn’t had a problem running around and fighting in non-athletic shoes) and also because he appeared to be wearing hospital sweats, which seemed like a rather odd choice for an angel. Dean must have seen his expression because he adds, “It’s a bit of a long story. Cas stayed at a hospital for a little while.”

 

When Jimmy looks up at Dean in surprise he catches sight of the hunter’s expression – clearly troubled and irritated. The hospital story must be a touchy subject. Jimmy decides to accept Dean’s brief answer for the moment instead of pushing him for more. It wasn’t the most important thing right now, anyway.

 

The shoes are still a bit of a problem, but he can’t do anything about them right now; there unfortunately aren’t any shoe stores in Purgatory, or wherever they are. Jimmy looks up at the forest before them. It’s sunken in mist, fog creeping out from the line of trees. The sky might be lighter than before, but it looks just as dark beyond the line of trees and who knew what other creatures are lurking in its depths. There is no alternative, though. The only area cleared of trees is the small circle around the cliff face. When he turns to look behind him – to see if, perhaps, they could climb up that way instead – he sees that past their shelter from last night, the cliff disappears into more fog.

 

With his terrible shoes and lack of climbing skills, risking the high climb won’t be worth it. Their best option is, unfortunately, the dark, misty forest.

 

Jimmy has survived through unlikely odds before - angels and demons and the apocalypse, even – but he’s coming to the realization that he’s probably going to die here.


	2. Onward

_Half a league, half a league,_

_Half a league onward,_

_All in the valley of Death_

_Rode the six hundred._

_\- Lord Alfred Tennyson; The Charge of the Light Brigade_

 

\--

 

The forest is just as dark and threatening as Jimmy remembers from their sprint yesterday. It is dim, the little light that Purgatory offers too weak to break through the thick trees above them. It would be nice if they had a flashlight or something – perhaps a torch. Something to cast a little more light on the shadows. A few dark feet into the trees, Dean had begun patting his many pockets - searching for his lighter, he had said, then cursed creatively when it failed to turn up; Jimmy's guessing it was lost to the forest floor, or the little cave, yesterday. Or maybe it never made it to Purgatory in the first place. Sooner or later, they might just get desperate enough for light to try that Boy Scout stick trick he's never been sure actually works or not.

 

There are still hidden roots and obstacles underfoot to trip them, but they move slower this time. There is no reason to rush if they have absolutely no idea where to go. Jimmy figures Dean’s plan is ‘walk until we stumble upon something’. It will be a surprise, Jimmy supposes, to see what comes first: exit, angel, or monster. If he was a betting man, he would probably go with monster.

 

The worst part, thought, is not the dark or the uncertainty or the complete mystery of where they’re headed, but the silence. Dean hasn’t spoken since they’d begun trekking through the forest, except to occasionally point out a root or tree branch Jimmy was about to trip right over. The forest itself is unnervingly quiet. No birds chirping, no far off noises of animals. Just nothing. It’s downright creepy.

 

Jimmy glances over at Dean. The hunter is scowling determinedly ahead of them, still gripping his knife – and their only form of protection – tightly.

 

“What’s your favorite color?” he blurts. He's never been all that great with silence. Or uncomforable situations. 

 

Dean snorts, glancing over at him with an eyebrow raised. “What?”

 

“Your favorite color,” Jimmy repeats sheepishly, feeling like an idiot. “What is it?”

 

“Why?” Dean sounds baffled.

 

“I don’t - I don’t really know anything about you and I thought we could fill the silence. Or something.” Amelia once told him he was charming; he's not sure if she was biased or lying. Maybe housing an awkward angel for a few years had just destroyed his social skills. Dean grunts. Jimmy watches him out of the corner of his eye. It’s hard to tell if Dean is amused, annoyed, or plain pissed off. Dean is hard to read – or maybe it’s just hard for Jimmy to read him. Maybe he should just shut up and avoid pissing off his only source of protection. Avoiding Dean’s gaze, he trains his eyes forward on the trees and the darkness before them.

 

“Blue,” Dean says suddenly. “Yours?”

 

Okay, maybe being stuck with Dean isn’t going to be the worst thing ever. At least he’s cooperating. Jimmy feels a slight smile pull up the corners of his mouth. “Yellow.”

 

“Yellow?” Dean repeats; now he definitely sounded amused.

 

“Yeah. It just always seems so happy. But not, you know, claw-your-eyes-out-yellow. More like, uh, Easter-time yellow.” He feels even more stupid once the words are out - another point for ineloquence. Jimmy looks over at Dean; the hunter is shaking his head in amusement.

 

Continue or not continue, he debates for a moment, then takes the plunge and asks, “Favorite movie?”

 

Dean grins.

 

\--

 

A while later, after they’ve exhausted conversation topics from movies to food to places they’ve always wanted to visit, Jimmy’s stomach begins reminding him he hasn’t eaten since – well, a while. He has no idea if Castiel kept him fed or not; his body probably hasn’t eaten since he was last in control of it. Actually, he’s surprised he hadn’t noticed earlier; the giant monsters chasing them must have distracted him.

 

“We should probably try to find food,” he says, rubbing a hand over his aching, empty stomach.

 

Dean nods in reply, looking just as miserable. “I don’t know what we could possibly eat here, though.”

 

Jimmy glances up at the trees overhead. “Plants?” He looks around him, checking for any identifiable plants – maybe fruit trees or bushes with berries on them. There aren’t any.

 

“Yeah, but how would we know it isn’t poisonous?” Dean asks, kicking at a barren bush next to them.

 

This is a good point; even if they do locate some sort of berry, they had no way of knowing if it is safe to eat. He hadn’t even thought of that, to be honest, and he’s once again glad that Dean is with him. Jimmy had never gone through boy scouts or anything similar in his younger years; after one miserable camping trip when he was eight, his family had never gone again and he had always preferred sticking with his modern comforts and indoor plumbing. It’s not a very reassuring thought to realize he would have probably eaten the first thing he’d seen and died of poison if Dean wasn’t here. If he hadn’t already been torn apart from the gorilla-cats, that is.

 

His stomach growls again, as if he had forgotten about it. _Yeah, yeah, I’m hungry, I know,_ he thinks, wishing Castiel had shoved junk food in his coat pockets when he got the chance. The image of the angel hoarding candy bars and chip bags is amusing; despite their surroundings, Jimmy feels himself smile slightly. It was gone as soon as his stomach growls again.

 

“We’ll find something,” Dean reassures. Like they’d find Castiel and an exit. Jimmy is surprised by how much of an optimist Dean is turning out to be, though he has a feeling it’s more for his sake than Dean’s. Which is good, as Jimmy isn’t feeling particularly optimistic.

 

\--

 

It would be nice if one of them had a watch. It’s impossible to estimate how much time has passed from the sky; Purgatory goes through shades of dim, dark, and darker and there doesn’t actually appear to be any sun - despite the minor amount of light - to clue them into what time of day it is. Jimmy isn’t even positive Purgatory has a day. It just seems to be one long stretch of night.

 

It would also be nice to at least know how long they have been walking. Their scenery hasn’t changed all; still trees and dark shadows every which way they turn. They could be walking around in circles and they wouldn’t even know. It has to have been hours since they first left the cliff side. He knows he should be at least relieved that nothing has found them yet, but it is incredibly hard to be excited when it is becoming increasingly likely they are simply doomed to wander. There’s not guarantee that there is even a way out of here; after all, people – and monsters – aren’t really supposed to escape from the after-life. It’s typically supposed to be a permanent affair.

 

It’s a rather terrifying thought to consider that Purgatory might simply be endless journeying with no destination – and the added excitement of all manner of monsters A-Z lurking in the dark.

 

As they've walked, Jimmy has felt himself growing steadily hungrier; now, it's nearly all he can think of. Walking and hunger. The conversation had ceased a while ago; they walk in silence, the only sounds the brush of their shoes along fallen leaves and the occasional loud growl from both of their stomachs. He's starting to grow thirsty as well; his throat is dry and Jimmy swallows continuously in a sad attempt to quench his thirst.

 

They have to find food and fresh water soon.

 

Dean suddenly stops, tensing. He lifts the knife higher, glancing around. Jimmy’s heart leaps into his throat; he stops next to Dean, searching wildly in the trees for whatever had caught Dean’s attention. He sees nothing. He hadn’t heard anything either – too caught up in his thirst and hunger and discomfort to notice whatever had alerted Dean. He would be a terrible hunter.

 

There is nothing to see in the trees – nothing he can see, at least; anything could be hiding in the shadows, behind tree trunks, maybe even above them in the branches. With that thought, Jimmy snaps his head up to search above them. The treetops disappear into the thick fog; only a few feet above them actually remain visible. Anything could be up there.

 

When Castiel had first taken over Jimmy’s body, the angel had been less concerned with blocking Jimmy’s sense of awareness and granting him peace; the first month or so, Jimmy had been forced to put up with a being that thought faster and reacted faster than Jimmy could even conceive. Castiel would act so quickly that it left Jimmy’s head spinning and his brain struggling to keep up.  Jimmy himself did not have even half the reaction time that Castiel did; probably not even close to what Dean had either. Selling radio ad-time didn’t exactly train your mind in such a way, so when the figure leaps out of the trees, Jimmy doesn't realize what's happened until he's face first in the ground, the creature's heavy weight on top of him. 

 

There’s the snapping of teeth not far from his face, hot, rancid breath of another living thing hitting his neck and cheek. Jimmy snaps into action, struggling, pushing, and kicking back at his attacker; he tries to shift the figure off of him or at least get himself turned around so he can see the creature face to face. Unfortunately, whatever it is on top of him is much stronger than him - much too strong for him to budge and he kicks and struggles without success. Something drips onto the back of his neck – spit and drool, most likely, his brain supplies and he kicks out harder, shouting for Dean.

 

Suddenly, Jimmy can breathe again; the weight above him is removed and he wastes no time pushing himself up and scrambling to his feet. A few feet away he watches as Dean holds down a struggling form; its expression is wild and animalistic - flashing sharp needle-like teeth as it growled and snapped - but the body looks incredibly human.

 

The creature is putting up quite a fight, and Jimmy remembers how strong it is, how easily it held Jimmy down. But Dean is clearly stronger and holds it down with a knee on its chest while he brings his knife down through its neck. Even with the knife wedged into the center of the creature’s windpipe, it continues to struggle, kicking and snapping at Dean with more vigor. The hunter pulls the knife free and brings it down again. And again, until suddenly he changes his direction, sawing the knife back and forth until the head comes completely free of the body. Finally, the head rolling an inch away from the mangled neck, the body stills.

 

The forest falls back into its unnatural silence. The hunter’s strained breaths sound in tandem with Jimmy’s wildly beating heart, both sounds brutally loud in their surroundings.

 

Jimmy's mind reels. He sucks in a breath shakily, steeling himself before creeping forward. It’s hard to move his feet towards Dean and the body, his fear locking his knees and freezing his muscles but slowly he makes his way towards the hunter, as if approaching a wild animal. He half feels like he is, Dean’s eyes glinting dangerously, face flushed from the fight, a bit of blood splattered on his cheek.

 

He comes to stand behind him, looking over Dean’s shoulder at the corpse for one brief moment before he turns his head away, feeling nauseous. He’s never much liked looking at blood. Closing his eyes for a moment, he focuses on evening out his breathing, trying to settle both his heart and his stomach. 

 

Meanwhile, Dean pushes himself off the corpse; he stands up next to Jimmy, who snaps his eyes open at the sudden motion, eyeing Dean warily. The cuffs of his jacket and shirt are stained red, the knife in his hands is dripping still. His stomach lurches. He slams his eyes shut again. In the dark, he can hear rustling, Dean moving, but he doesn't open his eyes again. He just needs a moment to process. Just a moment to accept what he just watched. “What was that?” His voice is hoarse, breathless; he almost doesn’t recognize it.

 

“A vampire.”

 

_Holy shit._ “Those are real?”

 

“Very. Don’t think Dracula, though. Garlic doesn’t do a damn thing. Neither will a cross or holy water. You kill them by cutting off their heads.” Ah, that would explain the excessive stabbing and sawing. It doesn't settle his stomach, though. “Wish I had one of my machetes with me,” Dean contiunes. Right. Because Dean is the sort of person who owns a machete. Multiple machetes, even.

 

Jimmy takes another deep breath, steadies himself, and opens his eyes. “Okay.” His voice sounds a little sturdier now, a little more forceful. His stomach has calmed enough that he doesn't fear vomiting and he forces himself to look back at the corpse - to see what a vampire looks like should he come across another one.

 

The man looks human enough aside from the mouth. Jimmy thinks the eyes might have been odd, but can’t see them now and he doesn’t want to check. The teeth seem to be the important thing, anyway - not the fangs in Halloween costumes, but crowded, thin, and sharp. Aside from that, though, it looks human. In most vampire lore, he remembers – not that he’s any kind of expert on it – vampires could be human first. The vampire's clothes are outdated. He doesn’t recognize the period, but they look old. Decades old, like he's been here for centuries. It's almost more unsettling than the beheading.

 

The boots, though, catch his attention. Study lace-up boots with a good sole. They look like they’d be good for running around a forest in. For climbing up rocks in. They’d certainly be better than the wobbly hospital shoes he’s currently stuck with. He’s not exactly comfortable with stealing the shoes off a dead corpse – vampire or not – but he realizes he’s not exactly in a flexible situation: it’s all survival, now. He has to do what he has to do.

 

Setting his foot next to the body’s, he tries to gauge the size by site alone. It’s hard to tell for sure, but they looked to be about the same size as his own feet – roughly, at least. It's a struggle not to look at the bloody neck as he sits down next to the body, but he manages well enough not to get sick while he tugs the vampire's right boot off. The smell the action releases is awful; Jimmy gags. He hopes desperately that vampire's are impervious to foot fungi

 

“What are you doing?” Dean asks behind him, wrinkling his nose in disgust as the smell receaches him.

 

“I’m not going to get very far with these,” he answers as he kicks off the useless hospital loafers. They aren't white any longer, stained with the dirt and the mud they had been walking through. His foot slides easily into the boot, but he wishes he had socks. He tries not to think about that as he puts the other boot on. With both boots on, Jimmy stands. He takes a few steps, testing them out. They're a little big; his feet slide around a bit in them and he knows he’s likely gain a few blisters. Still, slightly too big boots are an improvement; he'll take them.

 

“Work?” Dean asks and Jimmy nods. He glances at the abandoned loafers. Goodbye useless shoes, he thinks, turning back to Dean. The hunter is grinning at him, looking a little impressed. Maybe Jimmy is proving to be less useless than Dean had thought. “Smart.”

 

“Thanks,” Jimmy murmurs, grateful for the praise. He has to forget that the shoes came off a corpse, though – he still feels a little sick.


	3. Longing

_Chapter 3: Longing_

_Or, as thou never cam’st in sooth,_

_Come now, and let me dream it truth._

_And part my hair, and kiss my brow,_

_and say—_ My love! why sufferest thou?

 

_\- Matthew Arnold; Longing_

 

There’s a question Jimmy desperately wants to ask but is afraid to. It wriggles in the back of his mind, tickling his thoughts throughout their aimless walk. He ignores it.

 

To distract himself he asks other questions instead and soon learns that Dean and Sam were raised into hunting – what kind of father does that?! – and switched schools so many times Dean lost count by his junior year. Junior year was also his last year, though he adds that he did eventually get his G.E.D. after prompting from Sam.

 

Jimmy asks about Sam, too, and learns that Dean isn’t quite as quiet as he first seemed. He can talk quite a lot if you get him started on the right topics, and Sam certainly seems to be the right topic. Jimmy listens to Dean’s praises and watches the smile that brightens Dean’s dirty face, the way his eyes light up with obvious pride. He talks about Sam like Jimmy talks about Claire.

 

It makes it harder to forget the question he wants to ask.

 

Fighting makes it easier, though. Dean’s monologue on the Greatness That is Sam Winchester is eventually interrupted not by Jimmy, but by some sort of fox like creature. Its limbs are longer than those of a normal fox and thinner, sort of grotesquely proportioned, as if they’ve been stretched out. There are details that make it appear more humanoid, though Jimmy doesn’t have a chance to observe them closely as he scrambles away from the creature and lets Dean take care of it.

 

Dean kills it quickly and they start walking again immediately, and Jimmy realizes they’ve already fallen into a strange routine. Walk. Kill. Walk.

 

Dean doesn’t start talking again; perhaps he’s realized how long he had been talking about his brother, or perhaps he’s just tired after killing two bloodthirsty monsters in one day. Jimmy’s certainly tired just from running from them.

 

In the silence, The Question wriggles into the forefront of Jimmy’s mind.

 

“Do you know if my family is okay?” he blurts, finally, unable to hold it back, like a river forcing open a floodgate.

 

After the initial shock of the first day, they’ve been all Jimmy can think about. He misses them so much it hurts, like a gaping wound in the center of his chest. How many years has it been now since he last saw them? Since he last held them close to him? How many of Claire’s birthdays has he missed? How many report cards, school performances, soccer games? Will she even remember her father as anything but a distant figure in her memories? He has stories about Claire just like Dean has stories about Sam, but how many new ones has he missed out on?

 

And what of Amelia, forced to raise a child on her own?

 

Jimmy feels sick at the thought. Sick from the longing. He nearly misses the look Dean sends his way. Nearly, but not quite and he catches the pity, the way Dean looks suddenly uncomfortable. “No, I –“ The hunter turns away from Jimmy and clears his throat. “No, I’m sorry. I haven’t seen them since you have. Sam and I gave them a crash course on protection symbols and ways to hurt demons before we left, though. Just in case.”

 

Anger bubbles inside him; he’s overwhelmingly furious at the man beside him. What, he and Sam were too busy to check in once and awhile? Couldn’t just call every other week or so? Were Castiel’s contributions – all thanks to Jimmy’s sacrifice, mind you – not worth that much?

 

Dean goes to lay a hand on his shoulder but Jimmy pushes it roughly away. He wants to follow through with a punch but he’s honestly not sure he could land one on Dean if he tried; instead, he turns away from him and stomps off into the trees until the fog swallows Dean up and Jimmy’s alone.

 

He’s so angry he can hardly breathe. Rage licks at his insides like a fire, burning away everything else – all thoughts of everything else. With a grunt, he throws his fist into the nearest tree trunk, half pretending it’s Dean’s face, half pretending it’s Castiel; there’s the crack of bones and pain shoots through his fingers. He throws his fist into the tree again, feels the bones shift, move out of place with hot bursts of pain, knows he must have broken them.

 

So he starts kicking instead, the thick boots protecting his toes, and stifles a scream. Jimmy wants to scream and shout, to curse Dean and his brother, and Castiel wherever the hell he is, and Jimmy himself for being so stupid. Most of all he wants to curse God – wants to scream about His so-called promises of protection and ask where the hell they went.

 

_What about all those prayers I sent up? Weren’t You supposed to listen? Were these the plans You had for me?_ he wants to scream but even in his anger the threat of circling beasts keeps him quiet. It’s best not to draw attention to himself if he can help it; he still has no weapon.

 

Something drips down his cheek, falls off his chin and splashes onto the dirt below. He’s crying, though he doesn’t know when he started. Longing and pain wash the anger away; he scrubs at his cheeks, one hand bleeding feebly, and tries to choke back sobs.

 

Dean is kind enough not to come near him while he composes himself – apparently the monsters have decided to give him the same curtsey so he takes his time. Jimmy sucks in a breath and stares up at the darkness above him. Is God even up there somewhere? Can He see Purgatory at all – or does He even bother looking? Jimmy glares all the same, just in case He’s watching.

 

Eventually, he makes his way back to Dean with a dirty face and bleeding knuckles, and a promise to himself that **when** he gets out of here – Castiel or not - he will find a way back to his family.

 

And he’s going to grovel and apologize to them for the rest of his life if he has to.

 

 --

 

“Favorite book?”

 

They’re setting up camp for the night, Dean planning to take first watch while Jimmy gets himself comfortable – or as comfortable as he can – when the question comes. Jimmy pauses, shocked, then looks to Dean in surprise. They hadn’t talked at all since Jimmy asked about his family. He hadn’t been in the mood to try to start a conversation and Dean didn’t seem willing to start one himself. Heavy tension and discomfort had hung thick in the air with the fog while they walked.

 

Jimmy honestly hadn’t expected the hunter to be the one to finally break it. Dean’s not looking at him; he’s sharpening his knife on a rock, staring at that instead.

 

Jimmy attempts a smile; he thinks it comes out a little wobbly. “I like _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ ,” he answers, lying down. “And most stories by Dickens. You?”

 

“It’s a tie between _Breakfast of Champions_ and _Cat’s Cradle_. Though I love anything by Vonnegut. Dickens, huh? I think I read part of _A Christmas Carol_ in one of my high schools.”

 

They discuss books quietly for a little while and Jimmy recognizes the silent transfer of apology and forgiveness buried within the conversation. On top of that, he’s honestly intrigued by Dean’s answers. Jimmy himself had always enjoyed English, though writing had never been one of his better skills and his grades had suffered for it; but he had always loved reading, had tried to always squeeze new novels into the spaces left in his life between work and family obligations.

 

Perhaps he had judged Dean too quickly, but he hadn’t expected the hunter to do the same, slipping Vonnegut and Wells in between ghosts and monsters. Hadn’t expected him to be nearly as passionate about books as he was, either. Well, Jimmy thinks, he could have definitely landed worse company than Dean while stuck here.

 

When he sleeps, he catches brief glimpses of Amelia and Claire in his dreams. Amelia is laughing, makeup smudged from a long day, hair falling from its bun; Claire is shining, sparkling – something seems to glow in her eyes. He reaches a hand out for them, but they fade away each time he tries to grab them.

 


End file.
